


Undone

by LocalVodkaAunt



Category: One Piece
Genre: After care, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Begging, Biting, Bondage, Casual Sex, Denial, Dom/sub, Edgeplay, Falling In Love, Frottage, Hair-pulling, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Massages, Painplay, Pining, Porn with Feelings, Post-Zou, Scratching, Whipping, after care cuddles, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 23:40:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16942923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LocalVodkaAunt/pseuds/LocalVodkaAunt
Summary: Law tells himself it's just stress relief, but the illness never lies.





	Undone

**Author's Note:**

> Damn, I just wanted to write something kinky with Law and it turned out to be a porn moster fic. As usual, if you liked or if you hated it OR if you have any thoughts about this fic, drop me a line. Or an emoji (still no eggplants allowed). 
> 
> Shoutout to Tazz, my incredible beta, for putting up with my language confusion!

The room is only dimly lit and the flicker of the oil-lamps throws blurred shadows against the walls of the ship. They crawl over tables and chairs, eating away at the corners of the room, draping themselves over Law like a blanket, keeping him warm and quiet, only to reach out again, almost caressing the man in front of him, contrasting the sharp edges of his face. His features are distorted by pain, and heavy pants cut through the otherwise silent night.

 

Law watches with curious amusement as a drop of sweat makes its way from the other man’s brow down the side of his nose, running over the lips to finally drop down his chin, vanishing in the dark green cloth of his coat.

“I haven’t even undressed you yet, Zoro-ya,” he comments, “yet here you are, all hard and leaking for me before I even really touched you.” A smile tugs at his lips as he sees Roronoa’s defiant glare.

“Is that really how you want to play it tonight?” he asks, bending forward in an attempt to get closer, until he can feel the others breath on his face. “Are you going to be bratty with me?” While he waits for an answer, he takes his time to admire the view. Seeing a man as strong as Roronoa bound and shivering before him, struggling to hang on to the little pride he has left, is a delicate and rare pleasure.

“What a shame, you seem to need it so much,” he continues when he receives no reply. His hand slips into the others hair, almost gently, caressing the uneven skin of his skull, the single strands of hair standing up. Then he grips tight and _pulls_.

“I will not tolerate insubordination.”

Still, no sound leaves Roronoa’s lips.

“For failing to answer me correctly, you may not come until I allow you to.”

He sees the man swallow hard. They never done something like this before, only talked about the possibility. But Law is weirdly aggravated, he wants to see Roronoa fall apart under his hands, until every breath is shaky and he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. He wants him to lose control over his voice like he does sometimes, to hear every moan and yell without restraint, and Roronoa’s behavior indicates that his chances are good tonight.

 

Law lets his hand trail from Roronoa’s head to his shoulders, under the seams of his clothes, touching rough skin and even rougher scars. Careful not to undress him too much, his finger wanders over the broad chest until he finds a nipple, caressing it softly at first, but then pinching it deftly. He feels muscles twist under his grip. It’s exhilarating, being in charge like this. The anticipation is almost tangible between them, he feels like he could rip it right out of the air.

His other hand follows the first, scraping over the other nipple, teasing, testing. Then he tugs at them both at the same time. Watches Roronoa’s involuntary reaction carefully. Someday, he will put clamps on them. Exquisite, to imagine his partner tied up and gagged before him, moaning in overstimulation when the blood rushes back and every millimetre of skin is _oh so sensitive_. There is so much he still wants to do to the man before him, he almost can’t decide what should come first.

Slowly, he circles back over Roronoa’s shoulders, down his arms until his fingers meet the thick strings of rope he used to bind his hands together behind the chair. He moves around the other to admire his handiwork. “You have no idea how satisfying it is to see you helpless, Roronoa-ya.”

Not being able to see him seems to change the game for Roronoa. Law sees goosebumps cover his neck. Good, he thinks to himself. He decides to stay like this, to give nothing away but his voice and his breath.

His hands trail along the rope while he hovers next to his partner’s ears.  “It’s sad our time together is so short today. The things I want to do to you…” They sneak in minutes and half hours between meals, between planning sessions with the crew, before going to sleep. Law refuses to be distracted, but lately his thoughts have been wandering back to their encounters more and more often. He remembers the way Roronoa’s muscles feel under his hands, how tight and hot he is when Law’s fingers are deep inside him. He didn’t know something could arouse him this much, make him almost shiver in overstimulation just from a few touches. He doesn’t get tired of it. He wants more.

“Do you want me touch you, Zoro-ya?” He loves how the others man’s name rolls from his tongue, like a treat. The little bit of pleasure he allows himself between everything, between fights, blood, the shouting, the chaos and the never-fading sense that he has no idea what he is doing anymore.

 

He expected to be dead by now.

Yet he finds himself alive.

 

Right now he feels it in every fibre of his being. His pulse rushes in his ears, heart beating  quickly but steadily against his ribcage. His cock is almost achingly hard in his pants. There’s an urgency in him to end this facade, to cut through Roronoa’s bonds and take him on the floor with hard thrusts until pleasure overtakes every thought he has.

He doesn’t. Instead, he listens for an answer. When he receives none, again, he lets his lips caress the shells of Roronoa’s ears lazily. “Come on, Zoro-ya” he murmurs. “Your body does not lie. I know you want my hand on your cock.” He pauses to raise the tension. “Just say the word.” His lips wander down his partner’s neck, brushing just past his hairline.

 

Then he bites down, hard enough to bruise. Roronoa’s moan goes straight to his cock. He entertains the thought of touching himself to relieve some of the pressure, but decides against it. He will have satisfaction later, the wait only makes it worth it.

The pain seems to have brought the other to his senses. “Law,” he says and his voice is steadier than his sweat covered body lets on. “Fucking touch me already.”

“Tsk, you should really know better by now.” He presses down on the sensitive point behind the collar bone. A small groan escapes his sub. “Please,” he gasps out. “Please, touch me, Law.”

“I thought you would never ask.” He makes sure to sound extra affectionate. His hands are already on Roronoa’s hips, gripping tightly for a second to feel how strong they are, before they pull away some hindering cloth. And then, after what feels like an eternity but was actually just a few minutes, his fist finally closes around the other’s hard dick.

“Now, Zoro-ya.” The words are barely a whisper. He can hardly conceal his own excitement, knows Roronoa can hear the strain in his voice and gets off on him losing his composure. “I want to see you edge three times. Give me a color.”

The answer is pressed through gritted teeth. “Green.”

“Knew you would be up for it.” He has to bend his knees for better access as he moves to cup the other’s balls, dragging his fingernails softly over the sensitive skin. His sub makes a strangled noise as he begins to move his hand in a torturously slow pace. He can’t see much out of his position, but he feels the cock twitch in his hand, feels the other man shiver in his arms. His breath is hard and laboured and it takes only a few more measured strokes until he has to press down at the base to keep him from coming.

“That’s one,” he says. “Look at you, almost coming all over yourself.” Giving the other man some time to calm down again, he caresses his chest, his face. Lets him know he is still there, attentive, watching. Tries to convey his attraction with every touch.

 

After a few seconds, he returns his hands to their original position. “Can you take it a second time?”

“Yes.” The voice is quiet but determined. Law leans his head against his partner’s shoulders, resting for just a moment, before he picks up again. This time, every stroke is accompanied by a stifled moan, and Roronoa throws his head back as he tries to push up into Laws hands, desperate for release. The ropes on his feet make it almost impossible. Law chuckles as he stops and keeps his hands absolutely still.

“You are so eager. But this was only number two.” Again, he gives the other man a pause, this time pressing light kisses to his shoulder. “You’re doing so good, restraining yourself like this. It’s amazing.” He has seen his partner get up after wounds that would have killed a lesser man. Seeing him moving his hips unconsciously, seeking any kind of friction from Laws lax grasp on his dick sends a shiver down his spine, makes his stomach clench with want. But the praise is important and needed. “Can you do it one more time for me, Zoro-ya?”

He feels the nod more than he sees it. “Color,” he demands.

“Green.” Roronoa’s voice sounds broken. They haven’t been at it for long and Law marvels at how far he is already gone.

“I could have you like this every day,” he admits. He picks up the pace again, going just a bit more slowly, drawing it out, to hear the other’s breath hitch and the noises he unknowingly makes when Law’s thumb brushes over the tip of his cock. “Pleading before me. Seeing you like no one else does.” He feels the balls tighten in his grip. “Just a little bit more.” He rolls them in his hands, feels them glide over his skin. Everything about Roronoa is fragile in this moment, he is a mess in Laws hands. His partner draws frantic breaths, thoat exposed, cheek pressed to Laws head.  And then, just a second before it’s to late and he comes, Law stops, again, feeling the thick vein in his hands pulse quickly. “Do you want to come, Zoro-ya?”

 

For a few seconds, all the other man does is breathe. Then he swallows, hard. “Yes.”

“Yes, what, Zoro-ya?”

“Please, Law, please let me come.” The words come out with pauses between them, broken and raw. The need in it makes his skin crawl, makes him want to turn the chair around and kiss Roronoa until he can’t breathe anymore.

But he doesn’t.

Instead he speeds up again, removing one hand from Roronoa’s balls to stroke his chest, his other moving continuously faster and faster. Roronoa forms syllables with his mouth that he never speaks, moaning instead.

“You’ve been good in the end, Zoro-ya. Come now.” Law underlines his last words with a twist to Roronoa’s nipple and the other man cries out. He doesn’t know if it’s pain or pleasure and he is not sure if the other can make a difference anymore. He does it again and Roronoa comes, choking out an even louder yell of relief and desperation that gets stuck in his throat halfway. Law hears his voice catch and feels the warm liquid run over his hands. For a second he is sure that Roronoa’s broken cry is the single most beautiful thing he ever heard. He could come right then and there, just from hearing it.

He holds back, slows down his strokes and feels the others chest heave under him. He is warm and satisfied as if he orgasmed himself.

Law removes his cum stained hand from his partner and makes a move to clean it up on the old shirt he is wearing when he suddenly feels a scratch in this throat. He swallows drily and wipes his dirty hands on his clothes, but it doesn’t go away.

Clearing his throat, he reaches into his pocket to get out the knife he placed there and cuts through the ropes on Roronoa’s hands.

 

He coughs. Hard.

 

His lungs contract and for a second he can’t breath and fears irrationally that he will choke. Clasping his hands before his mouth in reflex, he feels his body cramp and shake.

At the back of his mind he hears Roronoa make an inquiring noise. But he can’t answer, can only let out a few more coughs before it is over as sudden as it started.

Taking deep breaths to let in some badly needed oxygen he looks down on himself. What just happened? Since he ate his devil fruit, he has never been sick. He almost forgot what it feels like. The thought that his abilities may not be as failsafe as he assumed weighs uncomfortably in his mind.

Then he sees it. It is purple and shaped like a heart, but lacking the dent at the top. The texture is soft and fragile in his hand, tearing when he touches it.

It’s kind of pretty as it lies in his hand, next to his knife.

It almost looks like a flower petal.

 

\--

 

Law wakes up because he can’t breathe. His hand goes to his throat reflexively, but nothing is there. He tries to draw breath, but it’s not working. Feeling his head go light from the lack of oxygen, he desperately tries to calm himself, and _think, goddammit_ , but he can’t.

There is pressure on his chest, but he doesn’t know where it comes from. His limbs jerk, as if they want to fend off an attacker, but he is alone in his cabin. Fear takes over instinctively, makes him shiver with adrenaline. He feels like he has to wretch, toppling over in his bed as he feels his consciousness slipping away.

In long, agonizing heaps his body breathes out, coughing up what feels like a lump in his throat. He gasps, taking in the life saving air. The fear resides slowly as his lungs take up their usual work again. Cold sweat runs down his forehead, as he sits there panting, the existential terror almost making him sick. With shaking hands he reaches beside him to turn on the lantern he keeps next to his bed.

There are purple petals strewn over his blanket. He touches them carefully. Despite knowing better he ignored the incident a few days ago, but obviously it came back to haunt him in the end.

He has seen these before. He cut petals like these out of the strained lungs of dozens of people, watched them wake up with strangely empty eyes af it they lost a part of their soul.

Never would he have thought he would be the one to catch this disease. Law hasn’t thought this would be even possible.

 

Because to catch Hanahaki, one needs to fall in love first.

He never did. He still doesn’t.

 

Law looks at the petals between his fingers. They are delicate and smear moisture over his skin as he grinds them between his fingertips. His mind is running, trying to find an explanation for this, because if there is no one to love, why would he get sick? Why doesn’t his devil fruit ability keep the sickness at bay?

There are options. To die, to operate, to be loved in return. But why would he do that? How can his body err this much? Was it not enough to almost die twice in his life, he thinks bitterly. He was prepared to die for a goal, but he is not ready to succumb to illness, not when everything he does, everything he is, is meant to defy it.  

His breath has slowed down. Glancing at his blanket one last time, he gets out of bed and makes his way into the kitchen to get some coffee. He will not fall asleep again tonight anyway.

In the early hours of the morning the Polar Tang lies quiet under water. His crew is still asleep, only the member on watch will be in the control room to keep an eye on their route. The galley is barely big enough to hold their crew at mealtime, but vacant it seems to be big and vast. While he waits for the water to boil, he looks into the darkness, where he knows tables and chairs to be, the wall that his crew painted a picture of a sleeping penguin on. It is a surreal and still somehow familiar thought, to look at something with the sinking feeling that it will all fall away soon.

He shakes his head. This is not the time for self pity. When it’s necessary, he will deal with this problem as he does with any other- he will solve it quickly and without looking back. His powers make it possible for him to treat himself without anyone ever finding out. He just has to do it before his crew catches on.

 

Making his way down to the lounge, he ponders the possibilities. He probably caught the disease from Roronoa. Not that he’s in love with him, but a session, the mix of power and pleasure causes the brain to release hormones that would be very similar to being in love. The intimacy and dependency on one another, the focus and closeness might bring something in him out of balance.

Since he recovered from the poison, he was always fairly healthy, but he never particularly cared about it. He knows he sleeps too little and drinks too much coffee, knows that his body misses the fresh air and the sun when they travel. Somewhere between fighting, sailing and his goal to bring down Doflamingo he probably messed something up that is broken now. He should probably be relieved it’s only Hanahaki and not something that will bother him over a longer stretch of time. He will break it off with Roronoa, wait until his crew is busy, lock himself up in the the med bay. A few hours and this will be over. Feeling calmer already, he enters the common room.

In the light of his lamp he can see the outlines of the furniture against the half dark. As he steps closer, he spots a silhouette on the big couch in the middle of the room. It’s a shame. He thought he would be alone at this time of the night.

 

Getting closer, he sees three swords leaned against an armchair. So Roronoa’s here. Not exactly the person he wanted to see in his current state of mind. He moves to turn around again, but the other man must have heard him, because he asks: “Up so early?”

“Long day ahead.” Law doesn’t turn around.

“You don’t have to leave because of me. I was meditating.”

He doesn’t know why he stays. He still wants the solitude of the early morning hours, but there is something about denying Roronoa that seems absolutely impossible. He settles next to the man, still a few arm lengths between them. Head sinking against the backrest, he listens to the other’s breath becoming steadier, until they are almost unnaturally slow.

 

Hanahaki.

Now that he calmed himself down a bit, it seems almost ironic. He cheated death twice, almost lost his arm, almost lost his mind, but still he lives on. After everything he survived, this seems like a trifle, a trifle that could be the last nail in his coffin if he isn’t careful.

As if his lungs knew what he was thinking he clears his throat and feels another petal in his mouth. He wonders if it’s even necessary to bother. Maybe it’s just time, it’s not as if he has any real idea what he wants to do now. He just imagined he’d die in the process of taking down the Donquixote family. If he’s not dead now, he probably will once they get to Kaido anyway. Maybe it’s not worth prolonging this farce further.

“Your worrying is distracting me,” Roronoa says next to him. The words seem so out of place that they startle Law shortly, before he pulls himself back together.

“I never asked to sit with you,” he replies.

For a second everything is silent again.

“What got you on the wrong foot in the middle of the night?” The other man sounds slightly annoyed, but Law doesn’t really care. He didn’t ask to talk, either.

“None of your business.”

“Calm down. Didn’t mean to interfere with your majesty’s sensibilities.”

For a second Law wants laugh out loud bitterly. This is hardly only a bad mood. It’s a stone in the ever turning gears of his plan, it’s illogical, it’s inconvenient.

Not only that he has to watch this carefully, he liked what he had with Roronoa these last few weeks. He hates the fact that he has to end it just because his body is faulty. That they will never be together again because Law will be biologically incapable of feeling anything but indifference towards the other.

 

Law gets up. This was a bad idea. “I need to be alone.”

Roronoa’s hand catches his as he turns to leave. “You’re tense. Let me help.”

Law shakes it off, his body repulsing the sudden touch. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Not like that.” But there is a fondness in his voice behind the exasperation. Law didn’t notice that he got up, but out of nowhere he feels the other man’s hands on his shoulders. “Relax. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack before we even reach Wano.” The hands press down on his shoulders, digging into the tight muscles underneath his skin. An irritated remark dies on Law’s tongue. It feels heavenly.

“You’re always doing something. Take a break.” For a moment Law wants to say this is different, this has nothing to do with it, but every explanation seems too much, too personal. So instead he stays still, lets Roronoa touch him, though he usually doesn’t like it, doesn’t want the other to touch him needlessly. Not when they are playing and not in any other circumstances.

Tonight is different, though. Maybe it’s the new but old feeling of weakness, or that he lost all control he has anyway, but he lets go, just a tiny bit, and lets Roronoa pull him back on the couch. Leans back a bit into the strong grip. It grounds him, somehow. He feels the rest of his worry fade into the background of his head, until it’s just white noise tearing at the edge of his consciousness. He concentrates on the pleasant feeling, feels his body relaxing.

“Told you I could help.” Roronoa sounds a bit smug and Law makes a mental note to pay him back later. But for now, he just enjoys the rare moment of peace. With their mission and his illness, who knows when he will have a moment to breathe next. His minds slips into a state of comfort and slight arousal. His limbs feel heavy from the lack of sleep.

 

He loses track of time. After what feels like hours, but could very well have been minutes, Roronoa pulls him back against the couch, half of his upper body leaning against the rest, half against Roronoa’s chest. He touched it dozens of times, seeing as how the other man likes it when he plays with his breasts, but now it feels different somehow. Strong and stable.

Law shakes his head slowly. Clearly he hasn’t gotten enough sleep today, his mind is drifting to the most absurd places. He shifts so he and Roronoa sit next to each other, knees almost touching. The tension in him is gone, and so is the strained atmosphere between them.

“How are you now?,” Roronoa asks after a while of companionable silence.

Instead of giving a real answer, Law opts for a simple “Thank you.”

He looks to his side. The urge to kiss the other is back. He doesn’t want it to be for sex, just wants to feel lips against his, breath fluttering against his skin. But as with the touching, kissing is not something Law _does_. He uses it sometimes, in scenes, to reach a specific effect. Create the illusion of closeness or letting someone else taste themselves. But he can’t even remember when he kissed another person just for the sake of it.

In his tired and unwound state he thinks that maybe he can indulge himself this one time. It’s just tonight, after all. And if anything happens, if he dies in Wano, or the flower in his lungs kills him, at least he won’t go without knowing when he last kissed someone.

 

He could have met someone worse than Roronoa, too.

 

Without giving it another thought he leans in, watches the other’s face. His eyes widen shortly, almost too little to actually notice, before he meets Law for the rest of the way. He is warm and pliant against him, letting Law take the lead as he usually does when they are together. He feels it spreading through his whole body, like a wave. He has forgotten it feels like this, comforting and slightly addicting. He deepens the kiss, not enough to open his mouth but enough to feel the pressure against his own lips more deeply. His hands move to Roronoa’s hair on their own accord, stroking through the strands, pulling him even closer. A small gasp escapes the other’ and he uses the opportunity to bite him playfully. When they part for air, Roronoa’s hair looks even more unruly than usual and his eyes are dark with desire.

Not for the first time Law marvels at how responsive he is. He hasn’t put any effort in the kiss, didn’t aim to please. But he can clearly see the effects it has on his partner. It’s flattering, really, and ignites the lazy arousal coiling in his gut.

With a growl he can’t believe came from him, he reaches out for Roronoa, pulls him on top of him and kisses him again, this time forgoing any decoration, their tongues meeting eager and desperately. He can’t think of a reason why he has forbidden himself the simple pleasure of kissing Roronoa, not when it feels this good, sends the blood rushing through his veins, makes him want to touch the other everywhere, make him understand the feverish need clouding his brain.

 

Maybe the illness is changing his reaction, goes through his mind before his hands push aside the now redundant clothing and he loses every other train of thought as he touches naked skin. He rakes his fingers over Roronoa’s chest, leaving long, red strokes, each one eliciting a moan from the man above him. It seems that he is not the only one without his usual restraint tonight. Their kisses are deep, tongues sliding against each other. They are staying closely together, trying to breath around each other. He feels Roronoa rock his hips absentmindedly against his abdomen. He grazes his nipples before pulling tightly. The other breaks away from him.

“Law, let me touch you.” His face is flushed with desire, but his eyes gleam with a need that is so raw it’s almost vulnerable. “Please.”

He is seriously tempted for a second, wants to feel the hands on his skin again, the wet hot mouth around his dick. But he can’t give in. There is a resistance in him, roaring at the proposition.

“No,” he answers. “Hands behind your back.”

Roronoa looks at him and if he didn’t know better, he’d have said the other was hurt, but he obeys, shifting to stay balanced as he removes his hands from Law’s shoulders and out of sight.

“The only way you get off tonight, Zoro-ya,” Law says to him, his voice radiating the familiar faked disinterest, “is on my thigh.”

His partner makes a strangled noise that goes straight to his cock. He is painfully hard, wishing for some kind of friction or pressure on himself. Instead he leans forward and presses another kiss against Roronoa’s lips, this one almost gentle. He sometimes ends sessions without coming himself, kind of liking the denial and the surge of power more than the actual orgasm. But this won’t be an option tonight, he is suddenly far too desperate for relief. So he opens his belt with one hand, the other is busy with arranging Roronoa’s clothes as he needs them for better access. When he finally has a hand around his dick, he can’t hold back the moan that escapes him.

 

He sinks back again, and looks at the man on top of him. He towers over him, big and strong, but his posture speaks submission. Law adores every millimetre of his skin, every bulge of muscle, the expectant look on his face. He gives his cock a lazy stroke as his eyes wander down, over the half clothed chest to where Roronoa sits in his lap.

“Move, Zoro-ya.”

And he does. At first, his hip gives tiny little pushes against Law’s leg, but as he lets his free hand travel up his partner’s legs, continuing to give little scratches and pinches, he slowly works up a slow but steady rhythm, circling against the thigh underneath him. Law matches his own strokes to his pace, watching intently for every flush of his face, every sharp intake of breath. It’s incredibly arousing, he feels like there’s fire running through his veins. Roronoa captures every second of his attention, throwing his head back, arching his back when Law caresses his chest. Law cups his cheek in his hand, takes a moment to cherish how Roronoa leans into his touch, before moving on to his lips. They are perfect, thin and wet, quivering with every breathless moan. He presses his fingers against them, and Roronoa sucks them in, letting his tongue glide over them. He looks incredibly erotic and Law needs every ounce of his self control not to push him down and fuck his pretty mouth until he comes. Instead he enjoys the feeling of his partner nibbling at his fingertips.

“Yes,” he breathes, tightening the grip on his dick. “Make them nice and wet for me, Zoro-ya.” His voice sounds husky in his ears, eager and disheveled. And he is, he can barely hold back, wants to feel every inch of the other, be closer, ever more closer. He asks himself where this sudden hunger comes from, but as he pulls his hand free and reaches behind his partner, the answer doesn’t matter anymore. Roronoa moans excitedly, pushing stronger against his thigh, grinding against it almost desperately. His hardness rubs against him with every small movement. Law lets his finger travel to his ass cheeks. The lubrication isn’t enough for penetration, but it makes the handling a bit easier as he caresses the other’s entrance. A broken moan escapes Roronoa as he pushes against Law’s fingers while simultaneously trying to get enough friction on his dick. It’s impossible and a frustrated groan follows a few futile attempts. He is already so far gone, panting heavily, gritting his teeth every time he pushes down.

A thin layer of sweat forms on his forehead. He looks wanton and gloriously messy. Law loves every second of it.

 

He can not ignore his own arousal any longer. Speeding up his own strokes, he places the fingers of the other hand, so that they will brush against Roronoa’s hole whenever he moves. He lets it rest against the other’s hips and moves his thumb over the head of his own cock, smearing pre come over his fingers with every new tug. His desire is like an ache, spreading from his gut to his chest, down his arms and over his face until his whole body is thrumming with want. He won’t last long from here, he can already feel his balls tightening. He looks up to Roronoa riding his thigh, his own eyes already half closed as he watches his partner rocking frantically back and forth, searching for more.

Their eyes meet through heavy lids.

Law stares. In the back of his mind he thinks: _They are brown._

He hadn’t noticed.

And then he comes and everything is gone.

It only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity to him. Lust and relief rage through his body and he is lost. From far away he hears a shout that might have been Roronoa following him over the edge, but he can’t feel anything but the pleasure that borders on pain.

It’s only later, when he made Roronoa clean up the cum on his belly and almost got hard again from the sight of his tongue alone, when he allowed the other to get out of his soiled pants and they are on the couch again, his partner’s head in his lap and lazily dozing off that he notices the tight feeling in his chest hasn’t gone away.

He curses the damned petals, the fucked up illness that suddenly puts a time limit on him, on this. He looks down on the bunch of green hair and his fingers that slowly separate strand from strand in what now seems a ridiculous parody of endearment. It’s a shame, really. He could have gotten used to this.

 

 

\--

 

He runs out of breath quickly these days. The disease seems to be progressing faster than usual, another thing that differentiates the course of his sickness from the ones he has treated. The coughing fits get more regular and he has to make an effort to hide them from his crew. He knows his time is short, he has to operate soon. When his crew is asleep at night, he takes their watches and plans well into the early hours of the morning. He doesn’t spend much time with the rest of the straw hats, keeping to himself. It’s not that he is avoiding Roronoa, but his symptoms seem to get worse when he is around him. Especially the tightness in his chest becomes almost unbearable and he notices himself stumbling over words or get lightheaded in the middle of conversation.

So it takes a while until they get back together again. It’s well into their journey and he feels the people around him getting antsy from the lack of space and sunlight. They need to take a rest soon, get their feet on solid ground again, breath some unrecycled air. The atmosphere  is making him anxious.

 

When it happens, they don’t even talk about it. One night Roronoa just knocks on the door of the captain’s quarters. Law didn’t expect it, but he lets him in, surprised as the other man kneels on the floor without further ado.

For a few seconds, all they do is look at each other. He doesn’t know how to react to this, so he slips into dominance like a well worn and familiar coat.

“What can I do for you tonight, Zoro-ya?” he asks.

There is a tension in Roronoa’s shoulders he doesn’t know what to make of. But he waits, their eyes still locked and unblinking.

“I want you to whip me.”

It takes a second until the words reach his brain. The silence that follows is long and uncomfortable. “Why?”

“I need the pain. I need focus.” Law wonders if the underwater travel takes its toll on him, too. He is used to traveling the open sea, unlimited space and frequent stimulation from the mess the strawhats get themselves into on a regular basis. The submarine must be like a prison for him.

He watches the other man for a minute, notices the wrinkles on his forehead, the determined look on his face. “As you wish,” he responds. An idea begins to form in his head. And he would be lying if he said he’s not looking forward to it. “Don’t move, then. I’ll be back.”

 

It doesn’t take long to gather the necessary supplies. He makes sure to pack salve and bandages, gets some rope from the supply closet and returns to Roronoa, who still sits on the same spot, his head bowed not in submission, but expectation.

Law takes his time. He moves some furniture for better access and uses his power to mold the ceiling so he can let the rope hang from above. Prepares loops for Roronoa’s feet and positions his medical kit in the middle of the room so he can always reach it if need be. While he works, he occasionally glances back to his partner, who hasn’t changed his position. The wait seems to have calmed him down a bit, though, and Law sees with a hint of relief that his shoulders are more relaxed than when he first came in. They don’t talk and Law does not address him, leaving his partner to his thoughts while he finishes the preparations.

At last, he dims down the lamps in his room so the light isn’t as bright anymore. “Stand up and come to me.” His voice sounds strangely out of place after being quiet for so long. He watches as Roronoa rises and joins him in front of the ropes.

 

“I’m going to tie your hands above your head so they won’t get in the way,” he explains. “And your feet will he held by these loops.” He makes sure Roronoa follows his voice with his eyes. “You will look so beautiful, all tied up and helpless,” Law promises. He sees Roronoa’s eyes darken a bit. “And since I currently don’t have a whip with me, I’ll use my belt on you.” His words have the intended effect, luring the slightest flush out on the other man’s face. Law always thought using brushes, belts and hands was the most intimate form of pain play. After their encounter in the lounge, being close to Roronoa doesn’t seem such a bad idea anymore. He still has to be careful. But this is going to end soon and he feels the need to take away as much as he can beforehand.

“Is there anything you want to add or change?” He gives Roronoa time to think it over, careful to keep his face neutral.

“No, let’s do this.”

“Let’s do what, Zoro-ya?”

“Please tie me up and whip me, Law.”

He rewards the compliance with a pleased smile. “Strip for me. Leave your pants on.”

As Roronoa slowly but steadily removes every article of clothing, carefully placing his swords against Laws desk and uncovering inch by inch of scarred skin. He always liked the strength and sureness of his movements and enjoys the opportunity to watch them unrestrained.

 

Law is already getting hard. They haven’t even touched yet, he thinks, and he is acting like a horny teenager. He busies himself with tightening the restraints on Roronoa’s ankle, keeping enough strain on the rope to contain excess movement. He doubts the other will need it, he has seen Roronoa take incredible amount of damage, but he wants to do it right. He wants him to feel that nothing can’t go wrong. While he ties the knots he makes sure to caress the legs before him, trying to convey his silent resolve to take good care of the other. After checking in that nothing is chafing he moves on to the arms, making sure every part of the rope fits tightly, without cutting off the blood supply.

It’s a sight. With spread legs and bound arms, Law has access to every part of Roronoa’s body. He makes use of it, lets his hands glide over the side of his ribcage, the big scar across his chest. The still clothed legs.

“How do you feel?” he asks when he is content with his work.

“Green.” The answer is quick and sharp. Law can almost hear the unspoken demand to get started already. He will start slowly, working them both up in intensity to test his partner’s reactions. In the back of his mind, he feels a bang of regret that he won’t have the time to get to know the other better, to slowly push his boundaries, to see what he is truly capable of taking. This will have to be enough.

“I will give you five lashes on your back to start, and I want you to count them,” he instructs, then takes off his belt, making sure the clank of the metal is audible in the otherwise quiet room. Gripping the buckle surely before rolling up the excess leather, he takes a few steps back until he has enough room to move.

The first lash is barely a fling, reminding himself of the feel and the swing of the belt, giving the other the possibility to mentally prepare himself for what’s to come.

“One.”  The word rings loud and clear. Law vows to himsel to change that as soon as possible.

 

The next hit cracks on Roronoa’s skin, leaving a small red mark that almost instantly vanishes completely. A wave of excitement flushes through him at the sight. He has missed this. He feels powerful and in control and it’s as exhilarating as always.

“Two.”

His partner gives no visible reaction to the impact.

“Do you want me to go harder on you?” he asks, voice low and seductive.

“Yes, please.” Oh, it would be marvellous to hear him beg before him, wanting more, craving for the next slash. Law is fully hard now, he can feel his erection pressing against his pants.

He puts more strength into it this time, the noise tearing the air between them, and the gasp that follows is a reward all in itself.

“Three.”

Law hits again, and the pause between the impact and the count makes him want to laugh with delight. He wants to paint Roronoa’s back like a canvas, in red streams and drops of blood. He wants to leave marks that will last all the way to Wano, something to remember him by when their ways part for good after the surgery. It’s selfish, he knows, but the thought feels so right, sends a shiver down his spine.

He lands the next one right across the shoulders, leaving a perfect line and a little moan in its wake. “Five!” The word sounds pressed, like it had to be forced through gritted teeth. It makes him proud and challenges him to go on, until they are both wrung out in exertion, breathing hard. He wants to take them to the space where nothing matters but the power and the pain, lust and devotion.

 

But instead he lowers his arm and steps up to his partner. Fingers trailing the already vanishing traces on sensitive skin, he asks: “Color?”

“Green.”

“I knew you could take it. You probably can take a lot more than this, can’t you?” Law makes sure to whisper the words directly into his partners ears and feels goosebumps under his fingertips as he does.

“Yes. Make them harder, please.” Law half expected a mocking quip and is pleasantly surprised at the unusual obedience of his rules. He presses tightly against the body before him, indulging the impulse to rub his erection against the other man’s ass.

“The things you do to me, Zoro-ya.” The friction feels so good, almost too good to stop. Still, he has a task to fulfill. “I want to make you scream in pain. I want to see you so far gone you forget every number, every word.” _Until there is nothing left but my belt and my voice._ But he can’t say it out loud. It sounds too possessive, too true to his own feelings. Roronoa groans in response though. He caresses his cheek from behind to show his satisfaction. “Keep counting,” he instructs, before he tears himself away. It is harder than it should be.

 

This time, there is no build up. He starts where he left off, hard, revelling in the noise, the satisfying feeling of leather hitting flesh. Every time he pulls his arm back, he hears Roronoa shout out the numbers. At fifteen, his partner moans from the pain of the impact, the sound shaking him to the bone. He is sure he has never heard something more perfect. His cock is throbbing. The urge to take another break becomes stronger and stronger. He wants to see Roronoa’s face, the sweat on his forehead, the wrecked exhaustion distorting his features.

With a few measured steps he closes the gap between him and his partner again. His breath hitches when he lets his fingers trace the streams on his back, marvels at the damage he has done. “You’re doing so well,” he informs the other man as he steps around him. “Letting me break you like this, you’re beautiful.” He has never said that to another person and his honesty takes him aback for a second.

But Roronoa lifts his head at his words and his gaze his full of hope and pride. There is no trace of competitiveness or defiance left in it. He is naked before him, stripped of every guard, despite still being half clothed. It’s breathtaking. If Law had known pain play would have such an effect on his partner, he would have suggested it a lot sooner.  

He clears his throat and feels the now familiar petals fill his mouth, forcing him to swallow hard. A strange lightness settles in his abdomen, his limbs. Law shakes his head as if it could make the unwelcome thought vanish. Now he is getting sentimental over an affair. He is not handling his illness as well as he wants to.

 

Still, he takes his time to brush some of the dishevelled strands out of the other man’s face, wiping the sweat from his brows. He feels him lean into the touch, something Roronoa has never done before. So he draws it out, gives away the contact his sub obviously needs, standing so close they are almost hugging. Despite being quite normal, the gestures feel strangely intimate to Law. Maybe it’s Roronoa’s different reaction to their session that’s irritating him, but he finds that he doesn’t really mind.

“Since you take to pain so well, I will give you ten more lashes,” he decides. He doesn’t want it to end so soon. “What’s the colour?”

“Please.” And _god_ , Roronoa’s voice sounds _broken_. The sound makes him want to kiss him, it’s so perfect.

“That is not an answer, Zoro-ya.”

The other man shivers, Law can feel it under his fingertips. “Green. Green. More. Please.”

His reaction is so intense that Law considers ending the scene just because of that. Subspace, his mind helpfully supplies. His partner is deep in subspace. This is not how he expected this to go. Not this early in their affair, not after such a short time in-scene. But then again, Roronoa surprised him again and again with how eager he is to be dominated, more than he would have ever guessed with the other’s usual demeanor.

 

It’s risky, he knows, to push so far so soon. But in the end, he is selfish, and he wants to see everything, wants to stay in this moment just a little bit longer. So he indulges his desire, turns the other’s head up and presses their lips together. But Roronoa kisses him like his mouth is a lifeline, greedy and desperate, hanging on every tiny movement.

He has half a mind to cut him down and just fuck him right here, on the floor of his cabin, take whatever he can get, without restraint or care. But he won’t do that to his sub. Roronoa asked for a whipping, not for sex, and he won’t break their agreement like this. So he breaks away and retakes his former position instead.

“Remember to count the strokes,” he instructs while he straightens the belt in his hand.

 

Everything is a blur from here on out. He hears the crack of the belt, “Sixteen,” a yell of pain. His arm begins to hurt from the strain he puts on it, but he likes it, because every hit is another moan, another noise. Number eighteen is loud enough to wake his crew in their quarters down the hall. He doesn’t care. The world could burn around them and he wouldn’t stop. It’s like a spell, mixed of blood, lust and power. It pulses through his veins until he is raw with want, the pattern of red and the smell of sweat and sex in the air driving him almost crazy.

It seems to be an eternity and only a blink at the same time until Roronoa’ calls out the final number, his voice horse, energetic and exhausted, struggling against the restraints in an instinctive try to escape the hit and failing. The reaction is so uncharacteristic for his sub, Law’s heart skips a beat at the sight. This is what he hoped for back when they started playing, to tear down all of Roronoa’s defenses and see him suffer, weak but still gloriously powerful.

He drops the belt where he stands and makes his way to the other man. Slings his arms around his waist, not so much as to hug him but to let him know he’s got him, he is there, it is over now. His heart hammers in his chest, surely Roronoa can feel it too. He mutters reassuring words in the other’s ears, how it is over now, that he did it. The other shivers from the adrenaline, the cold sweat on his back seeping in Law’s shirt. He needs warmth, but the bonds need to be loosened first.

 

“I’m going to take you down now,” he tells his sub, who barely responds. Without breaking contact, Law kneels behind him, pulling on the ropes with quick, determined motions. Rubs over the rope burn on Roronoa’s ankles to ease the itch. “Move your feet for me.” He watches how the other makes small circles with his feet, his body not quite balanced yet. Leaving a hand on his lower back, Law takes care to add stabilization as he moves up and begins to untie Roronoa’s hands. Guiding down his arms one after the other to give the other body time to adjust back into its natural position, he grabs his med case with the other hand.

“You’re almost there, Zoro-ya, we only need to get to the bed now.” He guides his partner the few steps from the middle of the room to his bunk, makes him sit. Gives him something to drink from the water bottle on the books that function as a night stand. He watches him obey his orders in silence, asking him to lie down.

Law slips next to him and makes sure the blankets are tugged tightly around them. He has never had another person next to him here, and it’s a strange feeling, like Roronoa just went straight through every bit of carefully constructed reclusiveness. His breath is slowing down finally and the shivering stopped when Law covered them up. It’s peaceful. It makes something in him ache, and then hurt even more when he realizes he has to let it go as soon as he found it.

 

He reaches for Roronoa, lays his hands on his arm. It’s hot and cold at the same time. His fingers travel over the biceps up to the shoulder, the neck and then the hair and face, stroking softly. “How are you feeling?” he asks lowly, walking a thin line between disturbing Roronoa’s high and the need to check up on him.

“‘S good.” He leans back against Law’s hand. “Keep doing that. ‘S nice.”

For a while, they just lie next to each other. Law traces every line of his body underneath the covers, still a bit aroused, feels the curve of muscles and the hardness of bones under his hands. But eventually, he breaks the silence. “You were perfect up there.”

“Yeah? Wanted to be good for you.”

“You were. You managed the pain as well as I would have expected.” His hands are buried in Roronoa’s hair again, he might develop a preference for it. The strands are wet and soft against his skin. “I almost didn’t want to stop. You are beautiful in pain, Zoro-ya.”

A small moan escapes the other. “Feels awesome.”

Law isn’t sure if he means the body contact, his high or the sessions, but he isn’t picky.

“I’m glad you like it,” he answers non-committedly. Before him he sees his partner’s shoulders lift and sink back down again, taking long but steady breaths. They look so strong, but there is neediness underneath. Law loves the contrast between the strong fighter that everyone else knows and his pleading, begging sub. He doubts he would ever get tired of it.

 

His back looks so inviting though, and Law wants to lean against it, feel it just for a few short seconds. And since it’s all going to be meaningless in a few short days anyway, he gives in, lets his head sink forward and rests it between Roronoa’s shoulder blades. The skin is so close to his lips and he traces their outlines with them. They taste salty and a bit dirty, too, but it’s oddly fitting. Roronoa’s breath hitches, but it’s so subtle that he may have just imagined it.

They stay like that, Law’s lips trailing and exploring, still stroking his sub’s hair, Roronoa quiet next to him, until tiredness sinks over them. Funny, Law thinks, as he clings to the other to ground himself. He has never allowed someone else to stay over with him.

He should make them sit up, get out the aloe from his bag and treat the strained skin on the back he currently leans on. It’s comfortable and lazy, though, the heavy presence of sleep and dreams almost tangible, and without consciously deciding, he lets go a bit further. He never had the desire to be with someone, to draw out the seconds. This feels worth it, though, almost precious, all this fear, the lust, the control.

Roronoa settles into a more comfortable position, forcing him to loosen his grip again, but not missing that they are even closer now, the length of his body pressed against his front. He feels the other drift into sleep, going limp underneath his fingers. It should bother him more, to break his pattern like this. But as he himself gets pulled under, he finds that, again, he doesn’t really mind it at all.

His last conscious thought before his eyes fall shut is that _this damned illness was right_.

 

\--

 

He keeps to his quarters. He knows there is a lot of work still to be done, preparations to be made, plans to talk about. Every time he leaves, he feels Bepo’s worried gaze on his back and he knows his friend just waits for an opportunity to corner him, so he avoids the others as much as he can, cutting himself short whenever possible.

The cough has gotten worse, his time is running short. Now petals spill through his hands with every convulsion and he needs minutes to catch his breath. The night before, he discovered a tiny a spot of blood on one of them, signaling to him that the flower has taken root in his lungs. If he waits any longer, it will be inoperable, at least for him alone. It’s complicated enough as it is, to dissect himself under anaesthetic and still perform with the necessary precision.

There is no one else who could help him. He has to get over his sentimentality and end this charade already.

Still, he finds himself hesitating. Stalling. In the back of his mind he knows he is gambling away his own life, but every time he sets out to set up the surgery, he feels a strange longing. It’s a symptom, but every time he feels it, he turns around and leaves the medbay to spend another night behind the locked doors of his cabin.

 

It’s his fourth day of hiding, as he sits on his desk that’s burrowed under stacks and stacks of books about the devil fruits, hoping he will discover any hint how to take down Kaido. The feeling that he shouldn’t have come this far didn’t leave him yet and is a steady companion. He pushes himself to go on, though, a forced pragmatism driving him to skim over page after page. It’s futile. If the answer was written in a book, the emperor would have found it himself  a long time ago.

Then the pain starts. It is cold and staggering, like ice in his chest, extending over through his ribs all the way to his back. It’s so intense he can’t breathe, can’t think. He feels himself falling forward, colliding with the edge of his desk. But it’s not enough to distract him from the pain, instead he hears himself scream into his hands. He doesn’t know when he lifted them, but they are there, pressed tightly against his mouth as if trying to hold in any sound.

For a few seconds, there is nothing else but the agony coursing through him, the sound of his own voice and blood pulsing pulsing in his ears. Then it stops as suddenly as it started, leaving him gasping for air and then immediately retching. He sits there half coughing, half convulsing from breathing the wrong way when three heavy red drops fall from his mouth and immediately getting absorbed by the dry paper of the book he was reading.

Panting heavily, Law stares down.

That was a root continuing to puncture his lung in an effort to make room for them to grow through, the rational part of his brain supplies. The existential dread filling him whispers: cut it out, make it go away, do something, anything, and he suddenly feels weak, to weak to move or to make a decision.

_Give me one more night_ , he tells his body. _I will handle this tomorrow._

 

\--

 

In the evening, it is him who seeks out Roronoa. He sits in the corner of the library, eyes closed but visibly listening to the cyborg playing guitar. Nico Robin sits on the table, the same mysterious and all-knowing smile on her face as usual.

Law makes his way to the shelf closest to Roronoa, his eyes never leaving the other. He has dropped every attempt at subtleness. It won’t matter tomorrow, anyway. Whatever impression he gives to the strawhats, it will change when he loses all interest in their crewmember.

“Zoro-ya. A word.” His eye cracks open, assessing him. But he is not waiting for an answer, he didn’t ask a question after all. He turns around and leaves the library, feeling the cyborg’s questioning look burn a hole in his back.

Nothing matters, he reminds himself. Nothing matters if he can only have these few more hours.

 

His cabin is lit by only a dimmed lamp, laying half of the room in darkness. He likes it that way, if he could, he would just close his eyes and open them again when everything is done and he is cured.

 

For a few agonizing minutes nothing happens. Law finds himself pacing nervously from corner to corner, crossing the spot where he tied Roronoa up last week a few times. The memories still send a shiver down his spine. Everything feels nostalgic already. The knowledge that there won’t be another meeting, that this is the last time he will wait for Roronoa, the last time he’ll touch him, that he will look at this exact same scene and feel nothing, makes every second feel drawn out and heavy. It’s a weight on his back that threatens to drag him down to the ground, so he keeps moving.

Finally, there is a knock on the door. Law needs to hold onto himself to not simply tear the door wide open. He measures every little gesture to not seem overzealous, but his heart beats a bit faster as he watches Roronoa enter.

“So what is it?” he asks after Law closed the door behind him.

“I want you, Zoro-ya.”

There is a spark of interest in the other’s eyes as he meets his gaze.

“Sounds fun,” he responds. “How?”

Law thinks about giving a cocky response, but decides to stick with the truth in the last possible second. “I want to fuck you.”

A shadow of surprise flutters over Roronoa’s face before he can catch himself. There is something else, something Law can’t quite make out. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.

“Thought you’d never ask,” the other man says eventually.

And Law can’t hold back anymore.

 

With two long strides he closes the gap between them, reaching out at the same time, pulling him close. Their bodies crash together before their mouths do, ugly and a bit painful, but oh so satisfying. There is no room for playfulness. Painfully aware this time he is the desperate one, Law buries his hands in Roronoa’s hair. He needs more.

The other breaks the kiss and suddenly Law is reminded of their encounter in the lounge two weeks ago. “Can I touch you now?”

The fear in his gut is back, and he almost says no. But he wants everything he can get tonight, so he pushes it down resolutely.

“Yes.”

Roronoa’s hands are on him before he has even closed his mouth again. They caress his face, his hair, the line of his neck and his shoulders, mapping him out, making up for all the times they weren’t allowed to. It fills Law with a strange mixture of terror and happiness. And they are big, covering entire parts of his thin bony body. He stays still for a moment, getting used to the feeling of another person touching him, not with violence in mind but gently and carefully.

When he moves again, it’s less desperate but still needlessly aggressive. He pulls down the haramaki and rips open Roronoa’s clothes. The swords give a soft clank as they fall to the floor, followed by the rustling of cloth. He feels strangely feverish, unhealthily focussed on seeing more skin, touching every inch.

 

They kiss again, unhurriedly, the arousal spreading slowly over his body. Roronoa hasn’t let go of him, since he gave him permission, pressing Law against himself as if he never wants to let him go. He can feel his erection against his thigh giving a slight twitch as his partner slowly pulls Law’s shirt above his head. His hands trace the lines of the tattoos on Law’s chest, his arm, as if they couldn’t quite believe themselves. It seems out of character to see the thick, rough fingers moving so softly. It’s almost too much.

So he takes the initiative again, steering them in the direction of the bed. Pushes the other man down and climbs on top of him. When they kiss this time, Law ups the game by biting Roronoa’s lip, earning a growl in return. He continues, giving small bites and licks down his neck, feeling the pulse quicken under his tongue. There is a hand in his hair not guiding or pulling, just lying there like a reassurance.

When Law draws his teeth over the sensitive skin around his scar, he moans, a long and sinful noise that goes straight to Law’s cock. He has waited so long for this, he wouldn’t let himself have it and now that he can, it’s almost impossible to hold back, to take the time his sub deserves. His hands gripping Roronoa’s sides are shaking in excitement. Unconsciously, he rubs his crotch against the other’s, making his breath hitch, his skin flush.

 

All his good intentions vanish into thin air at the sight. He pushes against the other and his nails dig deep into skin, leaving red streams as he draws them down. The surprised gasp he earns is like a victory.

“Now, if you ask nicely, I’ll give you a blow job,” he teases.

The words don’t have the impact he expected. Instead of following his suggestion, Roronoa furrows his brows and his desire filled features suddenly freeze.

“No.” The word is cut and final and tear Law right of of the lust induced haze that settled in his head. He sits back on his heels, looking at the serious face underneath him. He misses the skin on skin contact immediately.

“What do you want, then?”

For a second, all they do is look at each other. Law is assessing, wondering if Roronoa changed his mind. But the other man just stares at him, unblinking and unwavering.

“Let me do it,” he says eventually.

The confusion must show on Law’s face, because Roronoa sits up a bit, trailing his hand over his naked torso down to the waistband of his pants. But when he speaks, he doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I want to. Suck you off.” It looks like the faintest blush creeps over his cheeks, darkening the brown skin. It’s almost cute, Law thinks, the familiar tightness in his chest taking his breath away. His lungs ache and he has to force himself to breath through the reflex to cough.

 

For a moment, he hesitates. It seems so intimate to let this continue, here, like this. He is not in control, not even over himself and it frightens him more than he would have ever thought. But when he glances back at Roronoa, his look is kind of shy, kind of awkward. Maybe he is not the only one who has reservations about this.

“Do you really?”

A crude nod is the only answer he receives. So he climbs from his partner’s legs, an unusual fluttering in his stomach as they settle into a new position. Law leans his back against the headboard of his bed while Roronoa settles between his legs. He looks good there, like he belongs.

They kiss. It’s an unfamiliar feeling, to turn his head up instead of leaning down, but every time their tongues touch, a little surge of arousal courses through him. His erection vanished while they renegotiated, but now he is getting hard again, his hips drawing tiny circles against the sturdy legs next to them. The hands settle on his waistband again, teasing the fine line above it before settling on the button of his jeans, slowly pulling down the zipper.

He could scream in frustration. Part of him wants everything to move faster, wants to bury himself in Roronoa’s throat like he owns him, and another one urges him to slap his hands away, to do it himself, to stop surrendering.

 

His fingers clench around the sheets and he forces himself to leave them there, to stay still until his partner makes a move to remove his pants. His nakedness and Roronoa’s gaze make him feel more vulnerable than he has since he acquired his devil fruit power. Goosebumps cover his skin despite not being cold.

When they touch again, it’s a soothing balm over raw skin. A voice inside his head chides him for getting sappy, but it doesn’t matter all that much when rough fingers caress his thigh, setting him on edge in every possible way. He watches as Roronoa’s head lowers, an inch at a time while his hand wanders upwards, until he closes his fist around his dick.

Law almost comes right then and there. It has been ages since he let someone else this close to him and he forgot what it feels like, unfamiliar fingers and pressure, relief and want at the same time.

Roronoa goes easy on him, giving him a few experimentals tugs, exploring, before he lowers his head the rest of the way.

He doesn’t tease, just swallows the head of his cock without further ado.

 

And Law is lost.

There is only heat left. Heat in his dick, his abdomen, burning through him with an unknown intensity. His nails dig into his skin, hips unconsciously thrusting upwards. He tries to breathe, but it comes out as a drawn out moan, lazily rolling off his tongue.

He has fantasized about this, but the reality is so much better.

A swirl of Roronoa’s tongue makes him groan again. Through half lidded eyes, he sees the other’s head moving, green hair bobbing up and down, cheeks hollowed obscenely. He looks perfect, on his knees in front of Law and for a moment he wishes they would be standing up, so he could look down on him better.

But Roronoa goes on and his hand tightens around Law’s balls like it is an afterthought, fingers softly caressing the sensitive skin. Law can not remember ever feeling something like this, being so out of control over his own actions. But every touch brings another string of noises, drawn out vowels and breathless gasps with every movement.

 

If he doesn’t stop it, it will be over too fast, too soon. Torn between signaling his partner to stop and not wanting to, he lifts his hand.

But he is understood anyway, and the delicious wetness vanishes, leaving him panting and desperate for more. At least he found his voice again.

“Come over,” he orders, “and remove your trousers for me.”

While he watches the other man undress, revealing thick and muscular thighs, a reddened and leaking erection, he reaches into his drawer to get the lube. He wants to take his time, to commit every line of his body to memory, but his own arousal makes him desperate and erratic. With shaking hands, he pulls his partner closer again, kissing him while he opens the bottle, coating his fingers generously.

His stomach clenches art the thought that it will only be minutes until he is inside him.

He wills his body to be steady, tenses and relaxes his hand before touching Roronoa again, one hand in his hair, to guide him into a kiss, the other sneaking around his back to dip between his ass cheeks.

It’s shocking and embarrassing how excited he is, like this is his first time and he has no idea what he is doing, all awkward touching and wrong angles. He knows he got this, knows all the tricks, has done this dozen of times, but still his heart flutters.

 

Roronoa’s hands lie heavily on his shoulders, fingers tracing the outlines of muscles and bones underneath, as Law plays with his opening, circling around, sometimes pressing just a bit, but never penetrating him. He loves the way it makes the other gasp in expectation, how he tries to push down to get him to hurry up.

Law indulges him, letting his finger slip past the barrier of muscle, earning himself a greedy moan. “Since you seem so eager, Zoro-ya, why don’t you fuck yourself on my fingers?”

It doesn’t even take him a second to obey. He starts to move in a feverish pace, ignoring the initial discomfort completely.  His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are half closed as he looks down on him, gaze never straying. Law can’t wait to be in him, to see him move like that on his cock. He wiggles his fingers to draw attention to them before he inserts a second one, watching the other pick up again. He throws his head back when Law curls his fingers at just the right spot groaning indignified.

Only a few short moments of stretching pass before their eyes meet again.

He looks greedy for more.

“Law-” he begins, only be interrupted when his breath hitches when he sinks down again. “Law, please. I’m ready.”

“I need you to say it.” The sound of his own voice is surreal in his ear, like he is not meant to speak, like this for silence and talking bodies only.

“Fuck me, please!”

He has never been so quick in spreading lube over himself. The pressure of his own hand against his dick almost makes him moan. He is hot all over and feels his body humming with desire. If he ever wanted something, someone, so much, he can’t remember, because all there is is Roronoa, and his voice and the promise of the tightness inside of him.

 

Not bothering to speak again, he grips the other man’s hips and positions him in the right way. Roronoa is like wax in his hands, following every little push and press readily. But when he realizes what Law proposes, his eye goes wide in surprise.

But he wants it this way, he wants to see every part of the other, wants to see every expression. So he just nods and watches as the other lowers himself slowly, with far more caution than he did with his fingers.

Then, everything is heat.

Law’s head hits the headboard when he unconsciously arches his spine, his fingers digging deep into the skin they are holding on to. It’s perfect. The tightness around him, the smell of sex in the air and Roronoa’s weight on top of him- His mind stops working and he only consists of hands who urge his partner to move, and lust.

There are kisses, but he can barely feel them. All he knows is he needs more, more of this, more of the other man. One hand on his shoulders is holding him in place against his chest, sitting securely on his lap and gently rocking back and forth.

 

It’s not enough.

 

In the back of his mind he knows he should change the angle, should give the other man more room to navigate, more space to move. Should touch more, whisper something seductive, but he can’t. He seems to consist of sensation, the ache in his heart, the rawness in his throat, need and desire.

It’s so overwhelming, he can barely breathe.

But he ignores it, still demanding more, pressing against the other body, feeling his warmth, the heavy heaping of their chests.

Over him, Roronoa gives in to every gesture, follows the impatients tears at his skin. He still manages to look graceful at the same time. And he is beautiful, eye closed and giving in to Law’s stumbling lead.

His throat burns. He wants to clear it, to cough, but with the progression of his disease makes it dangerous. So he swallows thickly, hoping it will go away, hoping he can resist just a little bit longer.

A hand breaks free from Roronoa’s hips, like it had its own free will, and touches his face. He is so close, he can feel the pressure in his balls building, the sweet promise of relief almost tangible. He tries to hold it back, but it’s hard, because everything is so much, he didn’t know he could feel this much at the same time.

 

Roronoa’s skin is flushed and sweaty, panting heavily while he rocks his hips back and forth, making little noises that almost drive Law insane. He can see the tension in his muscles, as if he pours every ounce of energy into fucking Law senseless.

 

He looks undone.

Unhinged.

 

Law discovers no trace of the person he was outside of this room, pride and aggression are far behind him. Only pleasure is left. Raw and honest, and just for him. He has never seen anything better in his life.

The beauty of it tips him over the edge. His orgasm is intense, surging out every other thought and emotion, until there is only white hot relief and electric tingling, setting every cell in him on fire.

It lasts long, so long it’s almost painful at the end. When he finally comes back to himself after what were seconds but felt oddly timeless, Roronoa rides out the last waves on his now sensitive cock.

He opens the mouth to say something, but his reflexes are faster.

 

A barking cough escapes his lips, followed by the familiar pressure in his windpipe. _No_ , he thinks, there has to be way to stop this, to pull through. He clasps his hands on his mouth, desperately hoping he can keep the treacherous petal in, at least long enough to storm out of the room. But the attempt to hold it back only worsens the convulsions. He gasps for breath instinctively, and he feels the petals spilling into his hands, filling the small space as his midriff cramps again and again.

He knows they are coming out between his fingers, falling onto the blankets and in Roronoa’s lap, ruining everything his premature orgasm didn’t already. But he can’t stop, is only capable of holding on to reality as his vision starts to get spotty from the lack of air.

He should be used to it by now. But it’s just not possible. Panic has haunted him in every episode since that first night. There is pain is his chest as he spits out more and more petals, he feels the root pierce even deeper into his flesh.

_Hold on_ , he tries to tell himself but he can’t hear himself think over the terror that takes over his mind. _Tomorrow this will all be over._

It only seems to worsen his condition to think about what happens in the future. He feels dizzy and tries to cling to the things that are real. The soft pillows underneath him. The hand on his shoulder, warm. The hard wall in his back.

Maybe minutes pass, maybe it’s only a few moments, but eventually he can breathe through his nose again. He sucks the air in greedily. The pain is still there, like a dagger, going deeper and deeper, but he can get in enough oxygen that his vision clears and the fog in his head gets lighter.

 

While he feels the last shivers surge through him, he looks down on himself. There is purple everywhere. On their legs, on his chest. The sheets are full of those damned little things, drops of blood letting their color shine even brighter.

Shame settles in him, making him sick. He wanted to make this count, wanted this to be good, before he cut out all the attachment tomorrow.

“I’m sorry.” He looks up to meet Roronoa’s eyes. He expected to find disgust there, but all he can see is attentiveness. “I planned this differently.”

“You better?”

Law nodds. “It won’t be an issue much longer.” Less than a day, if he can help it.

 

There is an uncomfortable silence as they shift and leave their former position. It’s absurd, both still naked and there is a cum stain on his legs as Roronoa moves to get as much distance between them as the narrow bed allows.

He hands him a towel he placed on the nightstand earlier, watching as the other poorly cleans himself up.

For a second, neither of them knows what to do. Law wants to flee this, asks himself if it would be cowardly to just leave, hide in the medbay until morning and when the ship is up and running for the daily routine, just get started with making all of this disappear.

It will all be over later. He just needs to get through a few more hours, instruct his crew and then none of this will matter anymore.

The idea feels comforting for the first time since he decided to have the surgery.

 

He gets up. His clothes are strewn all over the floor and the bed, and he gathers them as quickly and efficiently as possible. He feels the other man’s gaze on him. If he leaves the room now, he needs to end this before. So he puts as much cloth between them as possible, putting on his pants and shirt, almost instinctively reaching for his coat that’s draped over the desk chair.

When there is nothing left to do, he turns around again.

“Zoro-ya-” But before he can begin a makeshift speech, Roronoa interrupts him.

“Who gave it to you?”

Law is taken aback for a second. The blunt question is unexpected, but not unsurprising.

“It’s none of your business.”

There is a crease between the other’s eyebrows. His shoulders tense.

“This isn’t working out, Zoro-ya,” Law begins again. “It’s only a few days to Wano anyway. Let’s leave this here and go on our ways.”

 

The change is rapid but hard to miss. The other’s face closes up, a hard line forms around his mouth. Anger is clearly written all over his face. Law supposes that’s only fair. Even though Roronoa’s anger was rarely directed at him, he has seen him fight with his crewmates enough times to know he is quick to fall into rage.

“Law.” His voice is strained from barely held restraint. “Who gave you this?”

The needless repetition of his earlier question irritates Law. He feels himself getting worked up, too. There is no way he will tell Roronoa the truth. It’s embarrassing enough as it is.

“I told you, it’s none of your business!” And if his voice is a little louder than strictly necessary, well, Roronoa brought it on himself. His nosiness is inappropriate and uncalled for. They are not married or anything, they are - no, they _were_ only fucking.

The thought hurts more than he wants to admit. So he turns to leave, as he intended to do in the first place.

 

But he doesn’t get far, because a hand closes on his wrist. The grip is so strong that he can’t wriggle out of it. Shortly he considers using his devil fruit abilities, but it still seems a bit excessive to just teleport out of the room.

“Let me go!” he demands instead

But the other man only looks at him, serious and intendly. It takes a few seconds until he speaks again.

“Is it because of me?”

He knows it’s not that far of a stretch. Roronoa is the man whom he spent the most time with the last few weeks, he is the man he ultimately took to his bed, something he hasn’t done since he and Bepo set sail three years ago.

He would like to lie, but he knows he is bad at it and even Roronoa, who is not the most perceptive pirate on the seas, would see right through him.

“It doesn’t matter. It will be gone by tomorrow afternoon.”

If Law didn’t know better, he would say there is something like desperation on the other man’s face. But it seems so unlikely that he dismisses it right away. “Now let go.”

The grip doesn’t loosen, though. It gets even tighter, it hurts and he is sure there will be bruises tomorrow.

“Zoro-ya…” He lifts his hand, the swirl of his powers clearly visible on his palm.

“You’re an idiot.” Now Roronoa’s voice gets louder, too, as if to tune him out.

“What?!” He is not irritated anymore, he has gone right up to raging. He feels his power swell up inside of him, threatening to swallow the room, to regain the control he has completely lost since Roronoa came in his room earlier that night.

“You’re a moron, if you would just answer me-” Roronoa interrupts himself and swallows thickly. His cheeks are flushed again, like when he asked to give that blowjob. But Law doesn’t want to think about that right now, not when everything turned out to go so incredibly wrong.

“I did, and I told you it’s not for you to know!” He is almost yelling. The anger, embarrassment and fear all mix together until he knows he doesn’t think straight anymore, he will make this even worse than it is now, but he can’t stop. “You will let me go, and we will never speak of this again. And it will be null and void by tomorrow. Stop meddling in my affairs because I got you off a few times.”

 

He is being cruel and he knows it. Nothing he says it’s true. The words hurt him as he speaks them, spits them out like splinters of glass that cut his tongue.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Roronoa’s voice resonates inside the tiny cabin. Law is sure the whole ship can hear them fight. But right now he doesn’t care. Nothing will matter, he tells himself yet again. He will sort this out when he gets rid of all the feelings he is currently having. “I’m telling you, you don’t need to do that!”

“You told me nothing-” It takes a while for the words to sink in. “What?”

The flush is back, and it sneaks over his cheekbones, down to his jaw and simultaneously up to his forehead until his whole face is glowing.

“If it’s me.” A thick swallow. Then, more quietly: “You don’t need surgery if it’s me.”

The silence that follows feels almost anticlimactic. They stare at each other, the physical signs of their argument still visible in their panting. Roronoa still grips his wrist, but Law doesn’t want to move anymore.

“What do you...” The rational part of his brain has already caught on. He has never thought about Roronoa returning his feelings. He has never even wanted them in the first place, never thought of having an arrangement based on romantic interest. He didn’t know it was possible.

His emotions however, seem to be slow on the uptake. “Do you mean that-”

“Yes.” The expression on Roronoa’s face is almost unreadable. There is contrition, uncertainty. A bit of hope maybe. And expectancy. “Look, I don’t say it has to mean anything. It probably shouldn’t, with Kaido and all. But you don’t need to- cut yourself open. Or forget.”

 

It’s all too much. In the last quarter of an hour, Law has gone through more emotions than he would have thought he even possessed. Now he feels strangely empty, but his mind is shutting down too, so that all he can do is stare at the naked man in his bed, next to a pool of purple petals, still holding his hand, looking up at him.

“I don’t...”

Exhaustion settles in, drags his limbs to the ground and slows down his thoughts even more. He should answer, he knows, but he has no idea what his answer should be. _This shouldn’t be happening._ It’s all he can think. This shouldn’t be happening, this is not going according to plan. And then he stops in the tracks of his thoughts, feeling lost and has to start all over again.

“I’m tired. Just sleep, forget the surgery,“ Roronoa says, sounding as tired as Law feels. He pulls at his arm, tugging him a step forward. “It will be alright in the morning.”

He lets himself sink unto the bed again, awkwardly close to the other man. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he says, finally finishing the sentence he left hanging in the air.

“We don’t have to.” Roronoa makes a few useless attempts at swiping the petals away. But they stick to the cloth of the sheets and blankets like a curse. “But I want to sleep.”

 

The statement is so unmistakably him that Law wants to laugh out loud. But it’s too tiring. Instead, he lets himself fall next to the other, feels a blanket being draped over him and darkness falling on them when Roronoa turns down the oil lamp on his dresser.

“Is that enough?” It’s the only question he dares to ask. Not if it’s enough to cure him, not if it’s what Roronoa wants, just if it means that it will work for now.

He has to figure out the details tomorrow.

Next to him, he can feel Roronoa lie on his back. “If you let me sleep in peace.” Tonight, that’s all that he has to do. As he listens to Roronoa’s breaths getting deeper in the dark, not quite touching him, but not being too far away either, he thinks he could get used to that, too.

 

He would deny it vehemently were someone to speak of it, but before he turns on his side to settle for sleep he scoops a bit to the middle of the bed. If the hand that is not supporting Roronoa’s head is closing loosely around his, that’s just reflex, an accident in a small encumbered space.

The pain in his chest is gone for now. All that stays is the tiredness, accompanied by a vague sense of relief. And Roronoa, of course.

For the first time in weeks and months and years, Law feels content.  


**Author's Note:**

> If you liked what you read, come visit me @zorotrash on tumblr!


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